Hates It
by sinfullysarcastic
Summary: 'He hates that so much, hates how there's some stereotype in this world that's telling him don't cry because he's supposed to be out punching a wall if he ever decides to show feeling. He hates how there's some obligation that comes with his persona that requires him to always be strong and never break down.' Slight Peddie, but mostly Eddie. For HOA One-Shot Day.


**DISCLAIMER: I don't own House of Anubis.**

His vision's blinded by tears.

If anyone asks, he'll say it's the rain.

But it's never the rain.

He hates it when he cries, hates that he can't stop it from coming, hates that some days it's so bad he can't push it down any longer. He hates how there's tear tracks as a reminder, and he hates how, as hard as he tries to rub them away, all it leaves is red skin. He hates crying _so _much, yet, somehow, there are so many people in this world he would end up crying over, crying because of. He hates that so much, hates how there's some stereotype in this world that's telling him _don't cry _because he's supposed to be out punching a wall if he ever decides to show feeling. He hates how there's some obligation that comes with his persona that requires him to _always _be strong and _never _break down.

But most of all, he hates how often he feels like crying.

Most days, it's because of his dad.

Some days, it's because of Patricia.

And only a few days, it's because of his mother.

Today…he's not sure who it's because of. To be honest, he doesn't really care. He's crying just for the sake of it, hot, angry tears that slide down and reach his lips until he can even taste them. He started a while ago, and now he can't stop. It's sob after sob until he's coughing really hard, until he's trying to _breathe _and calm himself down but it's not working.

He reaches for a tissue and blows into it, quickly discarding it and grabbing another. He claws at the bed sheets, willing himself to stop because what if someone walks in? What if someone sees him crying? What if they call him a wimp? What if he can't stop crying and he just proves their theory?

The thoughts make him cry harder, and harder, until he's red in the face and his features are scrunched up unappealingly. He grabs another tissue and blows his nose even harder, he wipes at his tears even angrier.

Most of all, he hates how he can do this. Hates how he can keep everything in for years on end until something, something horrifically small, could set him off until he cries himself to sleep. And he hates how he gets up and his skin is red and blotchy, hates how he has to blame it on something else because the great _Eddie Miller can't cry_. He hates how people ask questions, hates how he doesn't have answers, hates how frustrated he feels towards them as in _shut the hell up _and _mind your own business_. And he hates how he keeps this frustration in until it's piled on and accumulated to the point where something, something horrifically small, could set him off until he cries himself to sleep, and the cycle repeats. Today, the 'horrifically small thing' was something his dad said, probably with the best intentions. His dad never really understood that sometimes, the things he said hurt Eddie a lot more than he usually let on.

And there's a knock sounding at his door and he _tries _to be quieter, _tries _to stuff the sobs down until he can mutter a 'come in' but instantly regrets it once realizing that the tears are still coming. He frantically flips around and buries his face on the pillow.

"…weasel? You alright?"

Not Patricia. Now he really can't look up, because even though he's managed to calm himself down the slightest, to the point where he's just sobbing quietly, he can't look up. He's supposed to be the strong one, the shoulder to cry on, not the one crying on a shoulder. Patricia can't see him like this, and he burrows down deeper into the mattress, pulling up his blanket so that it covers his head. Maybe she'll take the hint and leave.

"Eddie? Are you alright?"

She never was good at taking hints.

There's a sense of urgency in her voice as she pulls the covers back and watches his whole body move up and down, up and down from all the crying he's doing, watches his arms shake as he holds the pillow to his face harder.

"You idiot, you're going to suffocate yourself!" Patricia says, grabbing the pillow from him with a strength he had no clue she possessed. He plants his face into his bed sheets, but she doesn't even say anything besides a soft whisper of: "Eddie, why is this pillow wet?"

Damn.

But he stays quiet, and she shakes his shoulders frantically, "Eddie? Eddie, you're scaring me. Please talk to me. Are you crying? It's okay if you're crying."

No, it's not _okay if you're crying_, because what would she think of him then? She's never cried in front of him and he plans on returning the favor, because Patricia's going to think he's a wimp once he tells her that there's no actual reason behind his tears but rather the culmination of everything to this point in time. He's supposed to be Mr. Tough Guy, he's supposed to punch a wall when he wants to feel anything- though that seems like the stupidest thing, because if he's going to punch something it's probably going to be a person rather than a wall, just like he did back in America. He used to deal with things that way, used to live up to his stereotype and get into fights, but something's changed since he's come here and he doesn't _want _to go back to the juvenile delinquent that he was.

"Leave me alone," he chokes out, because that is what he craves right now, to be alone, to cry it all out and then wake up the next day composed.

"No," she replies stubbornly, because, yes, he just had to pick the stubborn one, didn't he? It's clear that she's concerned but right now, all Eddie wants is some peace and quiet. "Eddie?"

"_What_?" he almost screams, finally lifting his head up since it's obvious she's not leaving anytime soon.

"Why are you crying, Weasel?" she asks softly, sitting next to him and awkwardly stroking his hair. Eddie stuffs his face back on his bed sheets.

"Because I'm a wimp," he mutters, and he feels Patricia shift, lifting his head up so that it's resting on her shoulder.

"You're not a wimp," she comforts, placing a kiss to his forehead. It's something about Patricia that soothes him, that makes him just feel _better_. Eddie sniffles slightly- he _hates _that he's doing this, he's not supposed to cry in front of her, she's supposed to cry in front of him. He's supposed to have _her _head on _his _shoulder. "Sh, Eddie, calm down. Sh."

Ten minutes later, his wails have reduced to sniffles, and there, his face is red now, just as he hates. He's too embarrassed to even _look _at Patricia, turning away from her and standing up.

She starts talking, "Do you want to talk about-"

"No," he says, voice hard. He's _not _talking about this, there's nothing to really talk about.

"Honestly, Eddie, we can-"

"Patricia, can you just leave me alone?" It comes out a lot harsher than he wants it to, but he doesn't say anything else, looking in his mirror so that he can see her behind him. Patricia looks hurt, but the expression's quickly replaced.

"Fine," she says, tone matching his. "Whatever." And with that, she walks out the door, and Eddie's left staring at his reflection, the blotches on his skin standing out as he bangs his head on the wall. Patricia's probably angry at him now for pushing her away when she was just trying to be a good girlfriend, and his Dad…he didn't know what was going on with his Dad anymore. Their relationship was too hard to figure out.

Eddie wipes the remaining tears away and blows his nose one last time, willing himself to look emotionless. He's not going to be doing this anytime soon, maybe a year later or something, when a horrifically small things pushes him too far. But for now, his red face remains a reminder of what he's just done, acting like a wimp.

He really hates crying.

**So that was a bit pointless, but...review? **


End file.
